Bravery
by Cascade Waters
Summary: Second in my Sanctity series.


Bravery

by firechild

Rated T

Disclaimer: I do not own the canon characters; I do own Benny and Kaj.

Warning: intense emotional situations, obvious AU (as in, this entire idea came long before I saw any previews for the s4 premiere)

A/N: I'm posting as much as I can of this series, and if you aren't interested, I'm sorry, but this has been waiting all summer and I'm tired of letting my laziness keep me from doing what I want. This is the second in what is becoming a set of five vignettes; this was not the way I had intended to tell this story, but this is how it's coming. Please note that I have no clue what the rules are for mail in the Federal prison system; I'm basing elements of the story on the mail rules for state jails in Texas because they happen to work and because a close friend works in the mailroom at a state jail here and has provided useful information. I also have no clue what the routine is for prisoners awaiting trial for treason.

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"You sure you're okay here? I feel like I'm sticking you with my homework." There was real concern in Don's eyes and voice, and it struck the younger agent that his team lead was acutely wary of leaving either of his remaining wings, and had been keeping both of them as close as possible without making either feel that he or she couldn't go home or grab some privacy, though whether he was worried about their mental states or afraid of somehow losing them, of not being there to protect them as he felt he'd failed to protect Colby, David wasn't sure.

"Yeah, I'm good. You just make sure that Reeves doesn't konk out behind the wheel." He sent Megan a short wave as she emerged from the hallway that led to the restrooms. She waved back and tried a half-smile, but her drawn face didn't seem to have the energy to spare. Her exhaustion really showed, though, as she allowed Don to gently take her arm as they walked to the elevator that would take them down to the underground section of the parking garage. She'd insisted that she was fine to drive, but it was late--almost 2AM--and if Don hadn't announced in his this-discussion-is-over tone that he was going with her, David would have.

They'd been working almost around the clock for the past three days, finding sleep elusive and rest impossible whenever they'd tried to go home, each of them unable to escape from the edges of the black hole that had formed in the car as they'd driven away from the jail, leaving a part of themselves behind to await an extraordinarily quick court date and certain death. The more David thought about this nightmare, the more he felt like the air was being sucked out, leaving him to float toward the black hole without being able to release the angry scream building in his throat. He was sure that Don and Megan felt it, too, just as he was sure that they felt the sickness in the pits of their stomachs. They were all used to long hours and the inevitable emotional investment that came with so many of their cases, but after almost fourteen hours of working without more than the occasional two-minute break here and there, Megan had declared that their sawdust-flavored lunch was gone and that the men had to stop trying to subsist on cold, bad coffee, as if she hadn't been doing the same thing herself. None of them found it easy to leave the office, even when Don finally ordered them home each night, but David had a feeling that Megan's play for protein had at least as much to do with breathing air not tainted by toner and the ticking of the clock. The air sounded appealing, but David couldn't entirely pull his bloodshot eyes away from the scraps of information they had, so he'd volunteered to stay behind in the relative quiet. He'd waved off paper for ordering, saying that Don knew him well enough to know what David would like and that he really didn't care, was just grateful to Megan for going for it. He'd tried to give her money, but she'd insisted that it was her treat, and he'd had the disturbing feeling that she still felt that she was somehow responsible for all of this. In these days when trust seemed to be at a premium, David had to trust that Don would take care of her while they were out.

The team was on administrative leave for the time being, officially for their mental health, and none of them was supposed to be here at all, but the other agents, some pitying and some even censorious, had nevertheless left them to their own devices. It helped that the three had no case load at the moment. The team had known without saying it that they could not suggest to anyone that they knew or believed Colby to be innocent, so they'd had to make it seem as though they were trying to backtrack to find any ramifications of his betrayal and how they'd missed knowing that their partner was a dirty turncoat; the deception hadn't been all that hard, as their anger was still genuine and still obvious, their evidence sparse and all but incomprehensible, and their dogged commitment understandable to every true agent. David supposed that this process might be faster if Charlie was here to help, that maybe the professor could work some magic and find the one clue they needed, but the veto for that idea had come first, not from Don, but from Colby.

So it was that only David was there a few minutes later when one of the night runners dropped off a message for Megan. David watched the messenger leave the floor and then glanced at the folded paper, recognizing the letterhead of the prison warden through the copier-weight paper. Not even hesitating, he picked up the paper, unfolded it, read the brief message, and found himself wishing for a wall to punch. He settled for slamming his fist down on Megan's desk, then sighed and scrubbed his hand slowly down his face. He thought about calling his coworkers, but decided to let them enjoy their time out of the office while he briefly lost himself in pained reflection.

_The young agent--former agent, David corrected bitterly--had insisted that no one else be brought in on this; he'd been furious with Megan, not for her part in his demise, but for telling Don and David the truth, for risking her career and theirs--and very possibly more than that--on what Colby seemed to feel was and should be a lost cause. He'd been shocked when the men had arrived with her three days ago to 'interrogate the prisoner about the validity of his casework,' and stunned when she'd indicated that she'd had the audio interrupted on the security camera in the tiny interview room and that they could speak freely as long as they turned slightly away from the camera so that no one could read their lips. _

_"Freely about what?" The inmate had bristled, obviously guessing that this meeting was not going to be what he'd expected when he'd been suddenly yanked from his cell and 'escorted' to this room to 'face his little lady friend.' He hadn't been prepared for what he'd heard, though._

_"About how we're going to get you out of this." Megan had faced the inmate, Don and David on either side of her and slightly behind as they'd stared at the former agent in his prison coverall. She hadn't been able to shut down the video in the room, but she'd assured the warden that she was a superior practitioner of Krav Maga and a couple of Asian martial arts; it had taken some talking, but she'd managed to get permission to be alone with the prisoner. The warden had pitched a fit when she'd arrived with her fellow agents, but she'd soothed him by pointing out that the men were extra assurance of her safety and that they promised not to disassemble his inmate... at least, not today._

_Colby had stared at her, slackjawed, for a minute before growling low, "We? There is no we. And there is no out." He shot wary looks toward his other former friends._

_"They know." Megan had been working hard to restrain herself, though exactly what she wanted to do was any man's guess. Colby's narrowed eyes had met her wide ones, glinting dangerously with the unspoken question. She'd taken a deep breath, wondering if she'd ever be able to breathe fully again. "Everything. They know about the plan; they know about Kaj, about Benny, all of it." She'd winced painfully at his glare, the woman who wasn't used to explaining herself to her juniors pleading with this confessed traitor for understanding. "I had to, Colby. I couldn't do it anymore; I couldn't just sit back and watch you d..." She'd choked, the word refusing to come. Then, as if catching herself, she'd straightened, the lines of her pant suit emphasizing her height. "I made my choice. You told me to do what I had to do; this was it." She'd indicated the other men with one hand. When his glare had just darkened, she'd stepped forward and leaned over her edge of the table, putting herself in reach of his white-knuckled fists. "It isn't right, Colby, and it isn't going to happen. You're not going down so that someone else can spit on everything you've given your life for. I won't let you. We won't let you." She set her jaw, and this time her anger met his. "You will live."_

_"For what?" Worse than a shout, his quiet rumble had had the men fighting to hide the shiver down their spines. "Live for what, Reeves? We've talked about this; you understood." He'd glanced at the agents again, looked up to one side at a section of cinder blocks, then suddenly swept an arm across the top of the steel table as if to clear it. "Dit, Megan, you're smarter than this!" He'd jerked out of the chair and swivelled to face the wall to his left, and pain had warred with anger in his voice. "You knew what you were doing when you came in on this; you knew what was at risk, what you're risking now. We agreed, no one else! We agreed that no one else would have to get dragged through this mess!" He'd turned back to her then, pleading to understand. "Why, Megan? Why did you risk them," he'd gestured toward the men, "why did you risk your own career, your..." He'd trailed off, then plunged on. "You know there's more going on here; you know there's more at stake than your pension, and theirs." She'd nodded tightly, but he hadn't been ready to listen yet, not until he'd made his point. "It made sense, Megan. It was supposed to be me; it was always supposed to be me! Think about it--you all have family, you all have people who will miss you and need you when you're gone; I don't. That's why they tapped me!" He'd dropped back into the metal chair, fingers running through his hair. "Dit, I could handle it when it was just me! No one else is supposed to have to deal with this!"_

_"Well, that's just too bad, now, isn't it, Granger, 'cause we're here, and we're going to deal with it!" Tired of hearing him rail, tired of hearing just what she'd known she'd hear, Megan Reeves had called on her reserves of steel. "This wasn't part of the deal; you getting hung out to dry was never part of the deal. I didn't sign up for that, and neither did you. We're still a team, and that means that where one of us stands, we all stand, and where one of us fights, we all fight. So get your butt out of the hole you're digging for yourself, and let's talk about how we're going to fight!"_

There had been much more to that conversation, as much unspoken as said, but Megan's words about fighting stuck out in David's mind just now. They hadn't gotten very far with a fight, flailing blind with a target--just a single name--but no direction for finding that target. But evidently they weren't the only ones with fighting on their minds; David guessed that Megan had batted her deadly eyes and asked the prison warden to apprise her of any changes regarding Granger--the message from the warden said simply that the inmate was in the infirmary, receiving minimal treatment for injuries sustained during an assault. No details, no word on Colby's condition, no information on where or when or how such an assault had occured in the unfinished cell block where Granger was the only denizen. He had to fight the urge to go down there and demand to spend a few minutes alone with Colby's attacker; as much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to scream at the injustice of being forced to betray his friend in order to try to save him, he knew that in order to keep Colby--and possibly the rest of them--alive, they all had to put themselves through the h that Megan had trapped herself into months ago, an act greater than Colby's when he'd confessed, the great act that went beyond the silence of good men in which evil triumphs, the act that fueled the flames of the nation's rage against an innocent friend.

And he'd done more than just act--he'd been a part of that rage, first because the fury had covered the deep burn of his friend's betrayal, and then because, while he was still angry with Colby for new and different reasons, his rage had spread to encompass anyone who might be connected to this travesty, and since it was taking every shred of his strength just to trust his own ex-partner and team lead, his rage touched just about everyone.

And it had touched Colby in a very physical way; as they'd prepared to leave the interview with Colby, the inmate had asked who was going to take the first shot. He'd had to clarify what he meant, that in order to make this little lovefest look credible, he was going to have to look like he'd just come from a very loud conversation with his two muscle-bound straight-laced ex-friends. When they'd refused to respond, shocked, he'd kept pressing the point, and when they'd gone to the door, he'd begun goading, picking at the scabs just forming over the wounds he'd caused and pulling out every sharp corner and hard edge he could find to evoke their anger at him, until everyone but Colby had been surprised when David had been the first to turn and lunge across the room, ramming his fist into the unresisting diaphragm of his errant friend. He'd like to believe that the rest of that encounter was a fog, but he remembered every punch, every knee, every word he'd yelled and every grunt from Colby. He knew that Don had gotten in a couple of hits, but David had been the storm; Megan had pulled him away before he could do any permanent damage, but he'd vented some of his rage in a way that still flooded him with shame. He was still angry with Colby, still unsure just who he'd shared his partnership and most of his life with for two years, but he couldn't make his actions okay in his own mind, no matter how much Colby had tried to reassure him afterward that it had been necessary.

David couldn't pretend to understand Colby's attitude over this, couldn't pretend to know who Colby Granger was anymore, but he did know that, whatever was going on in the younger man's head, whatever else Colby was, the ex-soldier was the bravest man David had ever met.

--


End file.
